Undefeated (Unexpected Book 5) (25 page)

M
ackenzie stares at the tree, her head shaking, and tears streaming. Fuck, I really thought that I was helping. Everything I planned ended up being a big fiasco. With my thumb I clear a few of those tears.

“It’s . . . I, you,” she finally speaks. “Why did you do it?”

I shrug, rubbing the back of my head and wondering what I’d do with all the shit I bought if she doesn’t want it. Each item is from the letters that Harper wrote to Santa. One from her and the other one from Finn. I skipped the new house and bringing her father back. If I could, I’d bring him back for her and the entire family. I’d give Mac and the kids everything they wanted just to see them smile. These days, their joy is the fuel powering my life. Yes, every present I bought was a selfish act, because seeing them happy makes me happy.

So I’m honest with her. “Because I could, and I knew that if I did it, they’d be happy. I wanted to see you smile. I fucking love to hear your laughter, watch you shine when your lips stretch into a smile because it’s a good day for them—and for you. I love . . .”

Her eyes shine with the moisture, revealing fear, doubt, but a sliver of more. Love. Maybe I’m not in this alone.

“Porter, I . . .”

“Mac,” I whisper her name, our lips almost touching. “I think I’m in love with you.” She shakes her head. “Yes. I’m pretty sure between you knocking on the wrong door months ago, and everything we’ve lived through.”

Not letting her think any further, I do the only thing I can think of that’ll stop both of us from discussing my confession. Our gaze locks, my breathing becomes labored—heated as I lean down—crashing my lips against hers. As she releases a surprised gasp, her mouth opens, letting my tongue inside. Her hands reach for the back of my head; her fingers entwining through my hair tugging me closer to her. I rest my hands tightly around her back.

Our kiss deepens; fire is traveling through my veins. Our hands release their original hold and begin to glide up and down. Exploring, searching as our bodies fit against each other. I want more; I need more. But suddenly she stops, my arms reaching for her before she vanishes.

“Porter,” she whispers my name between pants. My lips travel over her the hollow of her neck, enjoying the feel of her. Enjoying her scent. “Wait a moment . . . We have to talk.”

I loosen my hold; open my mouth, but my phone rings. Unknown number. Taking the call would be rude, but it’s also an excuse to think about what to say to her before she sets some kind of emotional restraining order after groping her.

“Kendrick,” I answer.

“Porter, it’s Chris.” I hear Chris Decker’s voice on the other side and I shut my eyes. Fuck. He called me. The child in me wants to cry the same way he did when he realized he had lost his mother and siblings, because with the fucking shitty luck I carry, I’ve no doubt that Chris will tell me to go fuck myself. “Are you there, kid?”

I nod, but remain silent because that’s the only way I can hold back the inevitable tears. Fuck, what I would give for a joint, a drink, something to numb every emotion that’s swirling inside my head. The memories are also resurfacing. Everything I swallowed since the first time I started was to forget my actions or my emotions. Evading the consequences of what I did, or how I acted, or the past. Remembering hurts, but among those memories I find my reason to stay afloat.

“Yes, I didn’t think you’d call so soon,” I confess.

“There’s nothing like the present, Porter,” he says with that soft voice of his. “What’s been going on for the past few years?”

“Not much. There was rehab,” I sigh. “Sorry for the cost, I should’ve worked harder—faster?”

“No need to be sorry. I’m glad you worked at your own pace . . . are you still clean?”

“Yes, some days are hard, so fucking hard,” I bite my tongue because sounding weak when I’m trying to show him that I’m okay is stupid.

“I can imagine,” he says. “Sorry about Steven, I just learned he passed away. This must be a hard time for you.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you spending Christmas alone?”

“No, I think I’m going to be at a friends’,” I say, hopeful that Mac won’t reject me after all I said. Or even better yet, she’ll want me.

“I’m glad that you have someone to be with, Porter.” A loud breath comes from the other side of the line. “Okay, kid, we don’t want to assume. Why don’t you tell me why are you looking for us?”

“To apologize, to reconnect, to . . .” I pause, making sure that all my thoughts are in order before I continue. Opening my eyes, I see Mac right in front of me. The compassion in her eyes, along with the spark she had earlier. She comes closer and takes me in her arms. Her hold is tight, as if giving me strength when I need it most. I hold her with one hand, leaning my chin on top of her head. “Recover my family, Chris. My parents. Look, I know I fucked up badly and I can’t expect you to open the doors of your house. But days like today, I’d like knowing I can call you to wish you a Merry Christmas or a happy birthday. Knowing that things with you and Gabe are okay will make it easier for me to continue.”

“A lot of things happened, Porter. I’ll discuss this with Gabe.”

“Please, at least let me apologize in person,” I plead.

“We’ll see. Now I want to congratulate you. I learned that you’re about to finish your degree, we’re proud of you.” There’s an air of satisfaction in those words. That word, proud, makes my entire body zing with joy. “Tell me about your music, do you have anything new?”

“I compose, but just for me.”

“That’s good to know you didn’t abandon it. You’re talented, Porter. Keep creating the good shit.” He pauses and I hear voices behind him. Loud voices. “Look, I have to hang up. It’s time to play Santa and there are too many Colthurst and Deckers to deliver to.”

“Thank you for calling, Chris, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Porter. I’ll call you early next year.”

And as I hang up the phone, I let myself cry holding onto Mac. Thankful that he called me; that if anything happens to me tonight, I know he doesn’t hate me. Hopeful, that perhaps, they’ll let me be part of their lives. Not like they did before, but anything is better than all these years without them. This hope erases the need to hide myself behind drugs and stay stone cold sober.

“He called you,” she whispers, her head resting on my chest. “I’m so happy for you. It’s like a Christmas miracle.”

“No. You’re my miracle.” I hug her tight.

We hold each other for several minutes and, as she starts to wiggle, I use the little courage the phone call injected to ask, “What did you want to talk about?”

“You, me.”

“What a great opening.” I kiss her forehead. “You and me. The possibilities are endless.”

“Porter, I don’t know how to feel.” She starts, “Confusion is the main emotion every time I think of you—of us. Leo is the only man I’ve been with; the one I swore to love for the rest of my life. It doesn’t . . . I shouldn’t . . .” She closes her eyes.

“I can’t tell you how to feel about him, or me. The only thing I can do is offer you my love and wait for you to find the answer—”

“Mommy,” Harper calls out, just as I was about to take another taste of her lips. “Santa won’t come if you are downstairs.”

“Shit, she’s going to come down,” Mac says, glaring at the stairs, then back at the presents.

“Good night, Mac, go upstairs. I’ll make sure to lock up on my way out.”

“I wish you could stay,” she mumbles, and my heart stops with those five words.

“Maybe someday, Mac,” I say, once I see the door of the kids’ room close.

Someday.

“H
ow many days before they go back to school?” Aunt Molly asks as we watch Harper, Finn, and Porter play with their guitars.

“They’ll learn soon,” Porter explains. Porter and Finn look adorable sitting side by side, scratching the guitar cords. Yesterday after they opened the only present Porter gave them—as Porter, they refused to put them down. A guitar for each of them. Both guitars are the perfect size for their age.

“On the second,” I remind her. “You’ll be gone by then.”

“That’s why I’m getting my fill of eye candy.” She smirks ogling Porter. “There’s nothing between the two of you, right? If something happens while I’m gone, text me. Because if that’s the case, I’ll bring myself a man home.”

I groan, squeezing my eyes shut to erase the mental picture of my aunt with some Latin hottie. She leaves for Costa Rica on the thirtieth for a couple of weeks with her friend Rhonda. Mom and Dad invited me to visit them in Florida for New Year’s Day. They offered to pay for the plane tickets, but I can’t afford the hotel. Leo’s mom, who I barely talk to, invited us to Charlotte to spend the holidays. She hasn’t seen the kids since the funeral. As much as I’d love to visit her, I can’t afford the trip. The plane tickets are expensive and driving is out of the question. Driving across the country with two little ones during winter would be insane.

As for things with Porter . . . there are kisses. Sweet, passionate kisses when no one is watching. Deep stares where I know he’s professing his love for me, while my soul trembles, uncertain of what to answer.

It’s been almost three years since Leo left, but is it too early to move on? I’m a mother, is it okay for me to do it? There’s no manual on it and Google isn’t helping at all. Some forums tell me that I should’ve started dating after a few months, while others say that I am better off alone. My heart is terrified to make a decision. Porter is handsome, smart, sweet, and caring. Any woman would be lucky to have him. He’d be better off with a single woman without the amount of baggage that I carry.

A tap snaps my train of thought. Porter’s eyes meet mine and a gasp escapes my throat as he smirks. I’m fucked.

“Time for them to head to bed,” he says, tilting his chin toward the wall clock.

“But it’s too early,” Harper complains for the third time.

“If you want to go sledding tomorrow . . . ,” I remind her.

She places her guitar on its base and jumps off of the couch as if it’s on fire, running up the stairs. “Finn, hurry up. We’re going to get to use our new sleds.”

“You are spoiling them, Porter Kendrick,” I accuse, but smile at him as he helps me out of my seat.